KIDS BY DAY, LITTLE ANGELS BY NIGHT

Tracy Dell'Angela, Tribune Staff WriterCHICAGO TRIBUNE

Her face veiled in white, Erin Alp knelt behind a curtain on the stage of the Lyric Opera, waiting for her cue. When it came, she joined a swarm of children rushing into the lights, dodging the devil himself, bass Samuel Ramey in a fire-red satin suit.

"Fratelli, teniamci per mano . . . " sang the Naperville 8th grader in Italian, her voice linked with 36 other children in a sweet soprano plea: "Brothers, let us hold hands."

For those few moments, she was engulfed in the fantastic splendor surrounding her: the lavish set, the world-renowned stars waiting in the wings, the sold-out crowd of 3,600 for the extravagant 4-hour production of Arrigo Boito's "Mefistofele," the centuries-old tale of the alchemist Faust told from Satan's perspective.

In another few moments, the teenager was out of costume and sprawled on a dressing room floor, munching Skittles, gushing about the cute boy at school and trying to finish her geometry homework.

Such are the dual worlds of the youngsters who win the rare privilege of singing at the Lyric Opera. Currently, in performances that span two months and end Jan. 30, 37 children ages 9 to 16 appear as a chorus of cherubim in "Mefistofele." They sing in the prologue, wait more than three hours backstage, then go on again for the epilogue--a regimen that makes for some very late nights.

It's a rather heady accomplishment for Alp, a girl who has never taken a voice lesson and whose stage debut involved playing the letter "F" in 2nd grade.

At only 14, Alp has been plunged into an intensely adult world, where she has seen opera stars dash about in various stages of undress and felt the rush of being part of something complicated and grand.

It is why she was on the Eisenhower at midnight on a recent school night, clutching a stack of mostly finished homework and contemplating a 6:30 a.m. call for basketball tryouts the next morning.

"It's been kind of hard for me to keep up my schoolwork. Sometimes I'll come home and I'll be completely wiped out," Alp said.

"But even if I don't go on to do anything else, I'll always remember this. There's something about opera--it just gets in your head."

In some ways, a stint in the Lyric Opera's children's chorus can wipe out a whole family, especially one not accustomed to the rigors of a theatrical life.

Consider the typical juggling act that goes on in most suburban households, then ratchet it up a few notches.

Add in months of rehearsals, missed school days, rush-hour dropoffs twice a week in the Loop, and late-night trips home to suburbs 30 miles away.

Granted, some of the kids in the chorus are stage veterans whose resumes are packed with almost as many appearances as the divas with whom they share the stage. But for the most part, these children come to the opera with little more than a big, pretty voice and the encouragement of a local singing teacher.

"I think this is a fantastic opportunity for a child, but I don't think it's healthy for a family to do this year-round," said Collette Sizer, whose 12-year-old daughter, Kim, is singing in her second opera with the Lyric. For about a month, rehearsals for one overlapped with performances of the other.

"It was absolutely crazy trying to get her in and out for rehearsals," said Sizer, whose family also managed to move from Lake Zurich to Naperville in the midst of Kim's frenetic schedule. "There was a point where my son said to me, `Mom, I'm here too.' "

Of the 37 children in the chorus, 27 live in the suburbs, ranging from Glenview and Park Ridge to Palos Park and Downers Grove. One boy takes the train from DeKalb, a girl comes from the Milwaukee area. Many families manage by swapping train and carpool duty with other chorus parents from neighboring suburbs.

It's a grind, but it's one the families accept with little bellyaching, said Sarah Randel, who as children's chorus administrator supervises everything from autograph seeking to vomit cleanup.

"Absences are not accepted or expected. If they get this far, they are very committed and take it very seriously," Randel said. "Most parents really want their kids to have this experience. They see how positive it can be."

For Laura Dickson, the experience started in an audition room last summer, a trek made at the behest of her friend and classmate Alp. The 13-year-old was recovering from pneumonia, but still managed to belt out "America the Beautiful" in a way that made children's chorus director Donna Brunsma scribble "yes" next to her name.

Dickson knew nothing about opera, and she didn't know how to speak, let alone sing, in Italian. But that knowledge would come in a few short months, along with the poise that would allow her to pepper Ramey--the world's ranking operatic bass--with irreverent questions during an impromptu autograph session.

"I love being on stage with all these famous opera singers," said Dickson, who once was intimidated by the prospect of auditioning with kids who had agents and professional photos.

"When I get older, I'd love to do this. It's turned into a passion."

Passion aside, on most nights it's a lot of waiting--waiting for the train, waiting for a turn at the makeup table, waiting to warm up, waiting so quietly behind the curtain for the brief minutes when their voices will be the only ones heard in this vast hall that reaches 180 feet into the top balcony.

An hour before the opera started on one recent night, the children arrived in a rush, toting musical instruments or backpacks filled with homework. They headed to one of three fifth-floor dressing rooms where they donned tights, T-shirts and celestial robes of silk and cotton. Before they slipped on their crowns and masks, the lower half of their faces and necks were slathered in white makeup, which the kids leave on all night, wreaking havoc with acne-prone complexions.

Indistinguishable in costume, they were herded into a freight elevator by chaperon AnnaMae Longaker, a mom from Glenview whose 12-year-old son, Tommy, has performed in three operas.

Longaker jumped at the chance to chaperon because it gave her an opportunity to share the experience with her son instead of waiting outside between dropoffs and pickups.

Though chorus parents are allowed inside the Lyric during rehearsals, they have no access on performance nights.

"Sure, there are sacrifices," she said. "But my husband and I love opera, so it was probably a bigger thrill for us when Tommy made it."

In the rehearsal room, Brunsma had seven minutes to warm up her chorus before they headed to the wings for their opening number. She warned about diminuendos and crescendos, but when the children's voices became audible on stage, Brunsma smiled.

"They are so good on stage. They all become professionals," Brunsma said. When she chided them, it was not for their musical mistakes but for the silly things-- breaking a chair in the snack room, sneaking off to other floors without a chaperon, making too much noise on the main floor.

During the break, some children pulled out their books, and the chatter shifted to French grammar or the periodic table. Others played cards or talked about boys. The kids say their teachers and administrators are pretty forgiving when they miss a class or are late with a report.

Still, these young singers are not inclined to toss out a "late-night-at-the-opera" excuse with their peers. Other children don't understand--let alone envy--this accomplishment. Most have never heard an opera, and they don't realize that people spend hundreds of dollars to see the sold-out performances in an opera house that ranks with those in New York City and Rome.

But the aura of the Lyric is not lost on their teachers.

On this night Kim Sizer made sure she got an extra program for her teacher, knowing that Ramey's autograph would buy some forgiveness should she fall behind in her homework.

"This has been very educational for me," said Sizer, a 7th grader at Madison Junior High in Naperville. "It's like knowing what it's like to be a big shot, except you're not."

Alp was yawning the second time she slipped on her robe. It was the end of the opera, and the children's voices suddenly seemed very tiny against the swell of 100 professional opera singers who now shared the stage.

It was a long wait for what seems some nights like such a small contribution.

But then came the curtain call.

Alp stood with the chorus and took a bow. It still unnerves her, the thunder of all those hands clapping.